


10 and Counting

by gearshaft



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Biting, Cleaning Kink, Dirty Talk, Dorks in Love, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kink Discovery, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magnus is dummy thicc, Mental Disorder, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, OCD, OOC, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Size Difference, Size Queen Roddy, Slow Burn, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Sex, Valve Plugs (Transformers), first fic, germaphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-09 02:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20986988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearshaft/pseuds/gearshaft
Summary: Magnus told himself that everything would be fine. This was a lie that even he could recognize. Simply following the 10 fabricated rules was no longer going to be enough. It was becoming harder and harder to maintain himself as his sickness took over his life. Magnus was unraveling quickly and losing hope. With Rodimus Prime involved, things would only get more complicated from there.





	10 and Counting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the very first fic I’ve ever shared publicly! I’ve always been afraid of sharing my stuff with others, but I want to power through with something very near and dear to me! A lot of this fic comes from my own problems with mysophobia and handling it every day! This fic is also very loosely based on the manga series “Ten Count.” I hope you enjoy the story and feel free to drop by my Tumblr any time! My Tumblr is gearshaft.tumblr.com !! I love discussing gay robots…Enjoy!

* * *

Mysophobia: _ abnormal fear or hatred of uncleanliness or contamination _

It was no secret to anyone onboard the  _ Lost Light _ that Ultra Magnus was strict about following the rules. Magnus knew that without rules, life would be chaos. Chaos was...messy. 

He made it a point to constantly remind all crew personnel of the rules and regulations in place; this was to ensure a safe, harmonious, and professional working environment for everyone. 

For Magnus, rules were meant to be followed to the letter and non-negotiable.  Because of this, the ex-enforcer's reputation was not positive. He knew he was viewed as a rigid and stodgy superior, which in turn, caused a rift between him and the others.

In all honesty, he didn't care much about his popularity on board the  ship. So long as he garnered the respect needed to watch over the mechs and femmes under his charge, then little else mattered to him. He felt no need to change his ways and was comfortable with the current state of affairs.

It went without saying that Magnus held himself to an even higher standard when it came to following these rules.

But he had a carefully kept and immensely shameful secret that  he refused to let anyone else know. 

It all started around the time he was growing out of sparklinghood. It became evident, rather quickly, that he wasn't like other sparklings his age. When measured against his brother, it was even more obvious. Unlike the other young bots in his age group, he didn't enjoy roughhousing or making messes. Magnus preferred to play alone in his hab suite, organizing and cleaning everything he owned. In addition, he would throw embarrassing tantrums when forced  to partake  in messy activities of any kind with the other younglings. Normal activities, such as bathing with his brother or servo painting for fun, were simply out of the question for him. 

The first startling sign this was a deep-seated problem came in the form of his repulsion to dust or filth of any kind. There were inevitable crying fits when he came into contact with any of these. Eventually, his obsession with imagined filth and non-existent messes became too overwhelming for the young bot. His confused family units could not comprehend his aversion to anyone or anything touching his servos. After a few too many episodes, they were forced to make a decision. This prompted his family to get him examined.

He was diagnosed fairly quickly with an extreme (albeit, pathetic) phobia. 

Ultra Magnus, the legendary warrior and the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, was terrified of something as microscopic as germs. 

Magnus, able to strike fear into his enemies with only his name, was afraid of harmless dirt.

Magnus, who made his own comrades slightly wary, was scared of dust. 

The same mech, who was easily one of the biggest mechs on board, was chilled to the core by messes of any variety. His processor could never silence the hyperfixation he had over contamination. This sickness ran his thoughts, his lifestyle, and even his personality. 

In truth, this obsessive-compulsive disorder was not Ultra Magnus’, but the insignificant being known as Minimus Ambus; this was the tiny mech that merely masqueraded as the legendary warrior. 

To protect this image, he hid his deepest fear. It was unacceptable to even think of sullying the name of Magnus with an inconsequential phobia of contamination via these germs. Years of practice had taught him to maintain his facade and hide his shameful secrets. 

He had long ago learned his condition would lead to mockery and isolation by his peers. This would inevitably make him appear inferior, despite his diligence or intelligence. The crew would not follow the word of a weak Magnus. By hiding his weaknesses, he garnered the respect he needed as second-in-command. With nothing but his sheer willpower, he hid this disease every single solar cycle. 

He went to great lengths to hide this severe and persistent anxiety by doing what he did best; enforcing a series of rules. These rules were created by himself and, as usual, he was unyielding when following them. It took him years to build the perfect list of things to avoid if he wished to be able to live a semi-normal life. The rules were simple: 

  1. Never touch anything within the communal areas or workspaces. 
  2. Dining/drinking in public places is banned.
  3. No mech/femme is authorized to touch or borrow the personal belongings of Ultra Magnus. 
  4. Maintain at least an arm’s length of space between the crew and Ultra Magnus. 
  5. Sharing any form of energon, solvents, or other liquid bases is not allowed. 
  6. Do not touch any other beings unless absolutely necessary.
  7. Nobody is allowed in the personal hab suite of Ultra Magnus.
  8. Intimacy of any kind is strictly prohibited.
  9. When the being known as "Ultra Magnus" is currently "Minimus Ambus," there is to be no one near said being to prevent cross-contamination. 
  10. Cleaning and proper sanitation protocols are mandatory should any of these rules be broken. 

As long as these rules were obeyed, then the many duties done by Ultra Magnus could be carried out unfailingly. Inevitably, these rules were occasionally broken by outside interferences. However, at the soonest available moment, Magnus would excuse himself and begin the process of thoroughly cleansing his frame. Under the hot spray of a solvent shower, he would scrub himself until he felt clean. Once he was out, he would apply a special wax and spray a finishing coat. This would act as another barrier between him and the unseen germs. As soon as he deemed himself clean, he would decompress for a moment before returning to his post. No one, as far as he could tell, seemed to have even an inkling of this routine. 

Until this cleaning was completed, no matter the situation, it would be in the back of his CPU that he was filthy; thoughts that he was crawling with bacteria plagued him, or that he was covered in other harmful substances and organisms. The level of obsession he had over this thought was no threat to any personnel’s life, so he allowed this system to continue. The minute it seemed that it was a danger to those he was considered responsible for...well, he would figure it out from there. 

He was the current wearer of the Magnus Armor and the holder of the esteemed title. He could juggle battles and the fear of getting enemy fluids (that he was sure would soak through his frame and into his very being) at the same time. He was confident in his ability to do this. He was nothing but a professional! He could sideline his irrational fears and behaviors for the sake of any emergency. 

He reminded himself daily that he was content with his lifestyle. He reiterated to himself, probably for the hundredth time, that his self-imposed isolation was a necessary evil for the greater good. Furthermore, it wasn’t like his presence was craved or his issues were weighing down the crew. Balancing his career, duties, and the "minor flaw" was no problem for him! As long as the rules were in place, then everything would run smoothly. 

It took only one being to break this entire code of conduct apart: Rodimus Prime. 

* * *

It was a huge accident! 

It was an unforgivable mistake!

How could he have been so careless?!

Admittedly, he had recently taken on more and more late-night work; he was constantly filling out reports and monitoring the crew. In addition, he was running on little to no recharge and hadn't been refueling as much as his larger frame demanded. He must not have been consuming enough energon to properly run at his normal processor speed! When was the last time he had properly refueled? 

This was inexcusable! Ultra Magnus did not overlook details! 

Lately, Magnus had taken note that the need to cleanse himself had increased tenfold. The compulsion had slithered so slowly in raising severity that, at first, he had not even registered it. He figured the increase in his need to sanitize could be attributed to his high-stress levels. He was constantly having to put a stop to the shenanigans on board the  _ Lost Light,  _ along with all of his other duties. Eventually, however, it had become so often that he had to admit his mysophobia was getting worse. 

Instead of panicking like he wished to do, he rationalized it as he always did; an inconvenient quirk that, while growing in severity and annoyance, was still benign when it came to the crew’s safety. Now, however, his overwashing had directly caused the slip in his facade. His servos, upon closer inspection after the optic-opening debacle, were beginning to show the wear and tear from the rough treatment. 

First, he noted that his servos were raw and the paint was chipping. Secondly, he realized the constant soaking and use of his cleaning chemicals were making it impossible for the rust and sensitive wiring to heal; however minuscule the wounds were.  _ Then _ , he concluded they looked rougher and felt it to the touch, which made him cringe. How had he not taken note of this before? 

It was only a matter of time before someone had noticed this, and just his luck for it to be his Captain. Inside the Captain's office, he had been in the middle of reading out a report regarding one of Brainstorm’s crazy experiments. Rodimus, without tact, interrupted his second-in-command with, “Mags, what’s up with your servos?” 

Magnus admitted to himself that he had always thought no one gave Rodimus enough credit for his keen optics and perceptive abilities; Magnus himself hadn't noticed these wounds up until this point. He looked down at his servos carrying the datapad, which he had been reciting off of. Great dread filled him when he had finally noticed the damage he had somehow overlooked. The irony was not lost on Magnus (despite some thinking he was incapable of registering such) that a mech so obsessed with his servos had paid no mind to the current state of them. 

In his distress, Magnus scrambled to form a proper response. “It is a simple chipping and rusting problem. Nothing a simple paint job cannot fix, Captain.” 

Rodimus raised an optic ridge. “It looks pretty severe...have you had it looked at by Ratch?” 

_ Of course _ he hadn't. The last thing he wanted was someone poking and prodding his already fragile and exposed servos, no matter how sterile they supposedly were. 

"I will handle this matter later. Thank you, Captain. Shall I continue with the report, sir?" This was a poor diversion and he knew it was cowardly, but he did not need to incite any more curiosity in the other. 

Rodimus looked skeptical but after a few moments, he nodded in assent for the other to continue and the subject was dropped. That should have been the end of the whole matter. But of course, it wasn’t. 

A few days later, during Beta Shift, both Magnus and Rodimus were on the bridge. By this point, Magnus had assumed the issue was forgotten and had no reason to be on guard; in retrospect, he probably should have been. 

Rodimus had sidled up to the other while everyone else on shift was busy. He said in a casual tone, “I talked to Ratchet and learned you haven’t been in the medbay yet to get those servos looked at. What gives?” 

Magnus froze. “Did you mention my servos to him?” 

Rodimus had no doubt picked up on the other’s tense posture and odd behavior. Well, more tense than usual. 

“Of course not. I only asked him if you’d been in to see him recently. I figured if you hadn’t said anything yet then it wasn’t my business to share, but Ol’ Hatchet sure was furious with me when he thought I was withholding medical knowledge from him or some scrap.” 

Magnus let out an exhale from his vents. “I appreciate the discretion.” 

“So? Are you gonna go or am I gonna have to pull rank here and make you go? I’m worried about you, Mags. Those servos look pretty painful.” 

Just the thought of Rodimus Prime--the popular and charismatic mech who was loved by all on board--worried about him of all people, admittedly made him feel...nice. But it was an outrageous presumption to assume Rodimus cared about Magnus' well-being anymore then he did about the rest of the crew. Rodimus had his many downfalls, but he would sacrifice himself for any of the crew if needed. It was commendable...but admittedly leaving a bad taste on his glossa for a reason he could not fathom. It was also a huge inconvenience for him at the moment. 

“I apologize, Captain. I must have been too wrapped up in my work lately--”

“Lately? Working is practically your hobby!” Rodimus said in a teasing tone. To emphasize his joke he added a friendly shove to the larger mech’s strut. 

Immediately after the brief contact between them, the stiff posture returned. Magnus attempted to ignore the churning in his gestation tank and instead focus on the insinuation his captain had made. "There is always work to be done for the welfare of those under our care; how could I, as an Enforcer, place my own needs above the others?" 

Rodimus, for a brief second, looked troubled; although Magnus was sure he must have been mistaken in his assessment for a second later his usual smirk was in place. "It's okay to be selfish every once in a while, you know. Look at me! I'm selfish all the time and everyone still puts up with me." 

Rodimus wasn't the same mech he used to be, and Magnus knew this firsthand. The only real habit that had carried over, through the many trials, was the captain constantly deflecting with humor and bravado to hide his deep-seated insecurities. The mech known as Rodimus Prime, at the start of the journey, was not the same mech who was standing in front of him; he had grown exponentially into his role. Magnus, on the other hand, was stuck in his own imagined pit. 

Magnus was overcome by a sudden wave of guilt regarding his sanitation habits. He was wasting valuable time and effort on these rituals that could be better used serving the Lost Light. If only the captain knew how truly selfish he was behind closed doors when it came to this routine; even now he was fidgeting in his frame underneath his calm exterior. How many times had he disregarded his duties or feigned being busy with work while he was really in his quarters scrubbing himself?

Magnus must have been making a face worth concern, for Rodimus cut into his inner monologue of self-loathing with, "Mags, are you sure you're alright?" He laid a concerned servo on the other's shoulder. 

_ Don't panic.  _ Magnus told himself.  _ Hold it together. You can do this.  _

"Of course, Captain. I must admit that exhaustion could be the probable cause of my erratic behavior. I apologize for the trouble and duly take note of your concern. Perhaps I should retire early?" 

“ _ You _ want to leave your shift early?” he snorted. “You  _ must  _ be tired.” 

For some reason, he could not fathom or explain to himself (even hours later as he lay on his berth unable to sleep), he responded in a monotone voice, "Even us Enforcers need to recharge from time to time; a startling concept, I know. Perhaps I should count data pads in my recharge or walk over to my desk and file reports while completely powered-down." 

Rodimus beamed at the other. "That was a joke! Magnus did you just make a joke at me?!" 

Magnus resisted the urge to roll his optics at the other. 

Later that night, as he was finishing up the last few diagnostic checks on himself, he would register something surprising: in those few seconds between the two of them, as they were laughing and joking, he had forgotten his desire to frantically examine himself for germs. Normally, he would have had in the back of his processor the entire time how his frame was crawling violently after the small contact between the two. 

At that moment, however, he responded with, "I am capable of humor, Captain. However, no one will believe you in the slightest should you decide to share this information. Now, would it be too unsatisfactory for you if I were to depart for the night?" 

“Aw, that’s unfair, Mags!” he huffed. “I should say no for that cruel little stunt, but I can handle the deck. Get some sleep.” 

He departed with a small smile on his faceplate. 

A couple of days passed by before the final incident that sealed his fate occurred. 

* * *

The incident in question began when they had discovered a carcass floating in the vastness of space. There we no nearby planets and the cadaver was not a species known by any onboard. It was decided for the body to be brought onboard and an autopsy to be performed in case there was some trouble lying ahead that they needed to avoid. 

With something like this, it was expected of Rodimus, Megatron, and himself to be present along with the medical team and the resident scientists. This was simply a precaution on the off chance something happened. 

Ratchet and First Aid were servos deep in the dead creature while Perceptor stood by with morbid fascination, and Brainstorm kept attempting to put his hands where they did not belong. Namely, anywhere near the dead being. 

Megatron was taking notes and conversing with Ratchet on the probable causes and likelihood of danger to the crew. Rodimus was clearly uninterested and keeping to himself, while Magnus was nearby to supervise everyone in the room and guarding against anyone else from entering the potentially hazardous area. 

How Brainstorm had snuck up on him, he will never know, but apparently, he had been staring at the body for far too long. His brain was already racing with thoughts of potential biohazards and airborne pathogens. It didn't help his situation when the body had moments before released air from one of the four lungs of the creature that in turn caused a bubble of blood to ooze up and pop. In his distracted state, he had missed the conversation that occurred where both the medical officers and the scientists agreed that there were no contaminants present. The death was likely attributed to an exploding vessel, which would explain the charred back and dorsal fins of the creature, along with the great distance the body has floated through space. It was probably separated from the wreckage who knew how far away. 

Brainstorm had deemed it upon himself to shake Magnus from the stupor he was in. “Magnus! We said we’re done and it’s all clear! Hello! You in there?” 

It took less than a nanoklik for Magnus to register something cold and gooey upon his arm. He looked down and with great horror realized the bright green blood of the creature was now smeared upon his arm. 

Brainstorm noticed the path of his gaze and cringed. “Whoops! Forgot I had taken some samples. My bad! You might wanna clean that off.” 

Magnus was an extremely patient mech but at that moment he wanted to strangle the other. "You touched that with your bare hands?! Then you deemed it alright to rub it on mine?!" 

“It was an accident--” 

“There is an unknown beast’s bodily fluids on me!” 

“Whoa! It’s fine, it’s just blood. It isn’t poisoned or something.”

“There is a  _ biohazard  _ on me!” 

Ratchet was quick to diffuse the situation. “Brainstorm, you idiot! Get your slides and wash that junk off of you!” 

Perceptor took it upon himself to grab the other's wing and drag him from the room. Brainstorm could be heard yelling out, "Ow! Ow! Percy, you're hurting me! If you wanted to touch my wings, all you had to do was ask--ouch! Don't hit me!" 

Once the two were gone, Ratchet turned to Magnus. "While it's gross, I promise you it ain't gonna kill you. So, you go wash up too. We'll handle the rest from here." 

Magnus surprised everyone in the room by immediately turning and rushing out of the room. Normally, Magnus would insist on staying until every last portion of work was finished and everyone was headed where they were supposed to be with whatever job they needed to do in the next step of the mission. For him to practically sprint out of the room without even a word of confirmation from his Captains was very unlike him. 

Magnus was too busy panicking to worry about the spectacle he had surely just made. Already, he felt as if he could feel the blood seeping into himself and infecting every fiber of his being. His servos were shaking as he continued his trek to the nearest communal showers. They were hardly ever used and much closer than his hab; the only reason he was breaking one of his own rules. He would first get rid of the substance and do a preliminary cleaning to buy himself time to make it to his own shower where he could properly cleanse himself. 

He rushed into the open room and was quick to turn the solvent to a scalding heat before immersing his entire frame underneath the spray. Without the proper scrubbing tools he used, for the moment he was forced to claw at himself to scrape the area clean. He was panting heavily from his vents as his CPU raced a mile a minute.

_ Contamination. Contamination. Contamination!  _

He had to be infected! At that very moment, microscopic organisms were spreading throughout his entire frame and the inner workings of himself! Soon, he would be riddled with bacteria or virus-causing diseases! 

The scraping combined with the high heat from the solvents was bordering on painful now, but he powered through his ministrations. Then, he added the most basic products provided in the room to clean himself thoroughly for the time being. 

Finally, his irrational thoughts started to calm down. He knew it wouldn't go away until he was fully up to his standards of clean, but at least now he felt more in control of his processor. He was attempting to slow his spark's rapid pace down with calming thoughts, and releasing air from his vents slowly when a voice startled him. 

“So...this is why you’re servos are all fragged up.” 

Magnus whipped his helm to the source. To his horror, he found that his Captain was leaning against the wall far too casually, and staring right at him.

“Scrap.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Now that all of the shitty exposition is out of the way then the real fun will begin! I hope you stick around for the next chapter and remember to drop by gearshaft.tumblr.com !!


End file.
